Father Figure
by anche
Summary: Not every childhood is pleasant and not all of our memories can we know. Tom Riddle's especially.


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DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

The very sight of the mediocre and mundane cottage usually depressed him, yet this night it only dampened his spirits slightly. He was in a rare pleasant mood as he walked past the pool of harsh light spilling fourth from the local inn next door to their modest home. There had been no surprises at work. He hated surprises.

Actually, he hated everything about the clerk job he was forced to take while waiting for his parents to come around. But, he knew, in time they would relent. She, after all, was a very beautiful girl who loved him dearly; always a nice asset to a man. Besides any village idiot could be taught to act elegantly and hold her tongue. It was not as if she would be the one to ever inherit the family fortune, or even really touch it with out his say so. He could control a wife better than that! Now, if only she would bear a son, then even his father would have to at least act delighted and, more importantly, allow the marriage. All of this could become a bad memory or an amusing story to be told at dinner parties. With all going his way, he would both win a beautiful bride and prove his will over the family.

A whiff of baking bread came to him as he hung his coat in the dim hallway. He could just hear her singing in the kitchen. Good, he thought, dinner will be ready shortly then we can go and work on that son. Smiling slightly, he quietly stepped into the room's welcoming warm glow.

She really was a very beautiful woman. Tall and possessing an almost unnatural grace, she danced through her chores. Her long wavy black hair perfectly set off her delectate completion and dark eyes. Even his mother, in a consolatory gesture, had noted that if he insisted on picking a village girl, at least he had chosen the most regal and stunning of the lot.

"Tom, I didn't hear you come in. There are still a few minuets before dinner is on the table."

Sinking gratefully into one of the oak kitchen chairs, he let his eyes linger around the room. She had been busy today; a pot roast in the oven, a loaf of bread cooling, even a handsome cherry tart. He briefly flashed back on the date but no anniversary or holiday came to mind. Besides it seemed there was nervousness in her motions. Yes, there was a definite anxious tension to her as she washed a sink full of dishes.

"I am glad you are back a few minuets early," she said turning to face him. "I have some news. I... well... remember how I have been feeling strangely these past few days? I took your advice and went to see Dr. Walsh. He confirmed what I suspected. Tom, darling, we are going to have a child."

His eyes dropped to her slender waist even as he jumped up to embrace her, visions of a son and heir racing through his mind. Yet he checked before reaching her, her voice small and distracted she had continued to speak.

"No, wait dear. There is more and this might be something of a shock. I am... well you see there are some things about my past you don't know. My, this is hard. They really should teach how to phrase things like this... maybe in Muggle Studies class." She briefly looked up to meet his puzzled gaze before dropping her eyes back to her hands. "Love, I am a witch."

"What," he said with a relieved laugh. "I thought you were a Catholic. It doesn't matter. I, for one, never held much stock in any religion. And if you want to play at spells and protection charms go right a head, but best not to mention this to my mother. She had a hard enough time with..."

"No dear," she said gently stepping forward to place a hand on his mouth. As she moved, his brain suddenly registered that the noise of dishes being washed had never ceased. Around the curve of her silhouette he saw, to his horror, the dishes quite efficiently washing themselves then neatly stacking on the counter.

His gray eyes grew wide as it all began to sink in. This... this thing in the shape of a woman before him had tricked him! She had lied to him... bewitched him... ensnared him! His visions of family acceptance and social maneuvers suddenly fell dead and stupid. "No... You... How could you!" he sputtered.

Slowly, as if with a cornered frightened animal she moved to embrace him. He reflexively flinched away from her touch. "And the child?" he softly asked in a deadly calm voice.

Seeing the rigid set of his frame and the coldness which had seeped into his expression she knew she was lost. Even as she felt a piece of herself breaking, she gathered her pride. After all, she had a son to think about now. Looking him dead in the eye she stood up ramrod straight and perfectly composed. "He shall be a great wizard. I feel it in every bone. No, more, he shall be the greatest wizard of this age and ages to come will speak his name with wonder and amazement for he shall do great things."

The crack from his slap echoed throughout the cheerfully bright room. "Woman, get yourself and what ever unnatural creature you carry out of this house by morning or I shall denounce you for what you are before the entire village as I drag you by your hair from this structure. Pray God, if one such as you can, neither you nor that thing you bear ever cross my sight again or I will not be responsible for my actions." Turning, he did not even pause to gather his coat and things.

She stood proudly and watched his retreating back until the door slammed after him. Only then did she allow herself to curl into a ball, arms clasped protectively around her stomach, and sob.

-

The whole scene flashed in Tom's mind, momentarily blinding him to the wonders and slime surrounding him. Strange, he though shaking his head to clear it, strange that at this moment I should think of him.

No one had ever told him all of what had happened. In truth, he supposed no one really knew to tell. The orphanage had only said his father left before he was born and his mother died in childbirth. They hinted at a scandal, of a lack of marriage vows, and spoke in disapproving tones discouraging any further questions. It was not until he arrived at Hogwarts that he gathered glimmers of why his father had left. His own mind recreated the scene, filling in the gaps, a thousand times over.

At his command the wall before him cracked open and slid apart; Tom took a deep breath. Strange indeed that it is now I recall my own tainted Mudblood heritage, he thought, a heritage I, more than any, shall overcome. With a wry smile he took his first steps into the dim greenish light of the Chamber of Secrets. "Father, cursed, wretched Father," he murmured even as he sense something stirring in the shadows, "my strength is growing Father, and then I shall be coming home."


End file.
